Karaoke
by Boomerang Butterfly
Summary: Never get a white girl drunk. Rhodey/Pepper friendship and maybe a little more, hints of Tony/Pepper


This is a companion piece to both my other IM fics, Selfish and Camelot. Reading either is not necessary, but is highly reccommended. It is probably an exercise until my muse can crank out the next part of Camelot. Do enjoy!

Pepper Potts does not get drunk. It's not in her nature. It doesn't coincide with her professional demeanor. He's sure it's probably written somewhere on her resume, also: _Does not get drunk at bars on the other side of L.A._

James Rhodes figures he should be sorely confused and alarmed because Pepper Potts is, indeed, drunk off her ass and swaying along with the hip hop song blaring across the sound system, but he's not. He's trying his damnest not to fall on his own ass cause he's drunker than she is, but he's bigger too and has been Tony Stark's drinking buddy since '87 so it's not affecting him quite the same way. He has, however, giggled more times than a grown-ass 37 year old man should, but that's beside the point. Pepper tells really good dirty jokes.

A small slender hand slides along the length of his torso, right around his ribs and he gives an inaudible shudder. "Soooooo…". It's Pepper, of course, her fifth, or sixth, or hell, twentieth (he's lost count) Dos XX clinched in the other hand. "What are we singin'?" Tonight's a Tuesday, and that means it's Karaoke Night, and as private and restrained a person the Colonel is, he can't help himself when it comes to karaoke. Plus, there's a 500 first prize that's up for grabs and he swears this time he's not chickening out so Lucy and her girlfriend Margie or Macy or-whatever-her-name can snag it like last time.

Of course, last time he came with Steven from R and D at Stark Industries and his only interest was describing, in detail, how big his model airplane was.

"Whatever you want, Pep," he responds, and takes a swig from his own beer. "Long as it ain't no stupid ass Boy George shit."

Boy George was probably the reason they didn't even place last time. He knew he should've gone with a Keith Sweat song. Nobody does Keith Sweat like Rhodey.

_Karma-chameleon my ass._

She snorts and nearly chokes on the beer she was currently drinking from. "Boy George, Jim? What the hell? Who do I look like, Steven Ramon?"

The instant the words left her lips, she turns her gaze to him and the strange twitching of his left eye gives it all away. "Damn." It's all she can whisper, almost as if she has a really important secret, before she dissolves into a fit of violent giggles.

"Yeah, well, that's the last time I go anywhere with nerds who sit all day in a laboratory and tinker on shit."

"You go places with Tony, don't see how that's any different."

They're both strangely silent for a few seconds after that and mentally, Rhodey pushes his panic button because this is the reason he got her out the house in the first place. Mercifully, the D.J. starts rambling about the contest again and Pepper takes a long pull from her beer, effectively draining it. "But seriously, Jimmy. Songs. We need some kind of formula, ya know? Something that'll knock their socks off."

She's slurring again, and he has no idea why, but he finds it kind of sexy. That, and her cute little ass in those jeans. Shit. Why the hell was he thinking about her ass?

"Keith Sweat sounds good to me." He shrugged and called the bartender for another beer. "Unless you got something against "Make It Last Forever", which is like, the _perfect_ duet." She shakes her head. "Never could get my head around Keith Sweat. Voice is too damn whiney." He scoffs at that comment, but she apparently ignores it. "Something fun, Rhodes."

"Uncle Luke?"

"You trying to get us thrown out the bar, aren't you?"

And he grins at that one because he didn't even think she knew who Uncle Luke was. Tony didn't even know who Uncle Luke was until a few years ago. And that's saying something.

"Well, hell. I'm running out of options. Name something off the dome and we'll decide from there."

It takes her another minute or two, between a few more unladylike swigs of beer and a nice belch that would do frat boys proud, before she comes up with anything.

"'Got Your Money'. ODB. A classic."

He's shaking his head, though all the while he's laughing. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I could make it through that one, Pep. I mean, I can see you right now. White girl on stage talkin' about you not having any trouble with me fuckin' you…"

"But I have a little problem with you _not_ fuckin' me", she finishes with a smug smirk on her face. "White girl can hold her own, thank you very fuckin' much."

James Rhodes decides then and there that he's going to get Pepper drunk a lot more often.

* * *

Ten minutes later, it's quarter till midnight and almost time for the contest and they've got exactly five minutes left to submit a song. Pepper decides she's had enough beer and opts for a martini, dry, thanks, with extra olives. Just as she gets her drink some jackass with a baseball cap comes slamming past and knocks into Pepper. It's not enough to topple her over, even if she is drunker than she's probably ever been, but it does make her slosh her drink all over the floor. She stands there stunned for moment, but laughs it off, even as Rhodey's threatening to hunt the guy down and kick his ass. "It's okay, Jim Beam. Heh, Jim Beam. I like it. That's your new nickname. Fuck Rhodey."

He wonders if that's a proposition or not.

Before he gets the chance to embarrass the hell out of himself and possibly get kicked in the nuts, she turns and bends over, stretching the dark denim of her jeans across her tight butt and he suddenly has an inspiration.

"Baby Got Back."

She's cradling a dropped olive in her palm and shakes her head. "Poor olive. It's inaudible now, Jim." He's pretty sure she means something else but he can't think what else it could be.

"I know, Pep. D'ya hear what I said?"

"Yeah. I know my butt's nice. I've got Billy Blanks to thank for that."

At the apparent confusion on his face she clarifies. "Tae Bo."

Jimmy nods as if he knows what she was talking about, and then forgets why she even mentioned Tae Bo.

"You still haven't come up with a song though."

"Yeah huh. Sir Mix-a-lot. Baby Got Back."

Pepper sets the olive down gingerly on the counter and frowns. She stares at him, her face flushed from the alcohol and her eyes just a tad bit drooping. "Uh…no. I'm in no mood to go through five minutes of glorifying ass." Jimmy snorts. "You told me to come up with something fun, Pep. It's that, or Keith Sweat. Unless _you_ can do better."

Something must have clicked in that pretty red head of hers, because she swings around and slams the near finished martini on the bar, grabs his hand, and almost tumbles over her own feet running towards the D.J. booth. "Pepper, what the hell?!"

"'Hypnotize'! I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner!"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, he's standing near the stage watching Lucy and Mary Anne or whatever slaughter a perfectly good Mariah Carey song. Lucy's too drunk to even get the words right, which is pissing her girlfriend off something terrible, and before they can even get to the high note, she's dragging her off stage to resounding boos from the audience.

Then, it's Pepper and Rhodey's turn.

"You ready, Jim Beam?" she asks, entirely too loud. "Hells yeah," he grins and, being the gentleman he is, offers her his hands up the steps to the stage. The crowd quiets for a moment; Pepper's standing on stage with a microphone in her hand with the shyest, mousiest look on her face, and for just a second, Rhodey's scared she's going to freeze. It'll be Boy George all over again.

But then the beat comes on and she's bopping along (rather admirably) and starts rapping.

He's the one that freezes, because this is not supposed to be coming out her mouth like that. She's flowing like a pro, as if she's listened to this song so many times she could do it in her sleep. And maybe, she has. Jimmy manages to find his composure enough to do the chorus, and the audience starts roaring. They're clapping along and singing with Pepper and he's feeling so damn good because he's got this gorgeous, funny, smart woman dancing like a FlyGirl from In Living Color in front of him and he's drunk on a six pack and a half of beer and the crowd is eating this up.

That first prize is in the bag.

When she exits the stage, she smiles and giggles and nods her head at everybody that's giving props. She's still got his hand in hers and for a moment, he likes to imagine that he's the luckiest damn man on the planet.

Except he's just her friend, and this isn't a date and she's going to wake up tomorrow and regret this.

As predicted, they do win and she's tired of the bar so they leave, only to get to the parking lot and realize that they're too drunk to drive and Pepper can't find her keys. They settle for calling a cab and collapsing in the backseat of his car till it gets there. For a few minutes they sit in companionable silence, her head resting against his side and his arm draped over her. Then she shifts a little, and craning her head up to face him, she smiles and asks, "You got anything good in the c.d. player?"

His mp3 player is hooked up to the Infiniti's sound system, and she grabs it, begins fiddling around with the buttons, looking for nothing in particular. At one playlist, her brow arches and she snorts with laughter. "The Dirty Mix?"

He chuckles. "Every man needs a dirty mix on their mp3 player. Hook that baby up in the bedroom, light some candles…she'll come out walkin' bowlegged."

At that Pepper nearly splits her sides laughing and scrolls through the list. "Oh really? Who the hell has sex to Jodeci?"

He shrugged. "It served me well back in '93." "Exactly," she countered and preceded to play some H-town. "Knocking Boots is so romantic." "Well hell, nobody asked you," he retorted, pretending to be offended, "anyway. And how do you know about Uncle Luke?"

Pepper leans back and smiles. "My roommate in college, Tandi, was into Uncle Luke. She was the only black girl in the whole dorm cause she took honors classes. She got a lot of flack for it, but she never backed down. Got me out of a lot of fights, too…there was this one time with this big nasty girl named Annie…" Pepper shudders at the memory. "Anyways, she had a habit of playing "Scrub the Ground" really loud just to piss people off. It sort of grew on me."

"She still single?"

Pepper let out a soft laugh and shook her head. "No. She got married about five years ago, has a daughter and a Pomeranian. But her sister Leslie is. 'Cept Leslie's a lesbian, so there goes that." And she laughed at the silliness of Leslie the Lesbian and he laughed too because she was snorting out her nose, which was equal parts hilarious and cute. Then she snuggled further into his side as her laughter subsided and closed her eyes, humming off key to the Isley Brothers.

"Pep."

"Hmmm."

"Cab's here."

The cab ride back to her apartment was quiet and long. She fell asleep not long after getting in and he cradled her almost protectively against his side. When they finally got to her place, he gently shook her awake and helped her get out the cab and up the stairs. "You comin' in?" she asked, a lazy smile on her face. It took all his will and a good bit of hers to say no.

"Naw, I got work in the mornin'. You too." She nodded, yawned, stretched, and he almost took back his refusal back but stopped himself. "See you later, then," she murmured and shut the door with a soft click. He waited and made sure she locked up and headed back to the cab, and back to his place.

* * *

At seven-thirty she called, effectively waking him and making his hangover worse. "Jimmmmmy…" she croaks out, and he'd laugh but his head hurt too much. "Take as much aspirin as you think you can handle, Pep," he said and with a short goodbye he hung up the phone.

Then he's up and swallowing Tylenol and orange juice and eats pancakes, and it takes a few hours but he has her car towed back to her apartment and his to his apartment. She has her head down on her desk when he stops by at work.

"Just tell everybody you got the one day flu and go home."

She looks up and chortles even though she looks like hell warmed over. "And let this place fall apart? Puh-lease. Besides, it's just a hangover. I'll live."

"Your car's at your place."

She smiles and something in him stirs.

"Thanks, Jimmy."

He's silent after that and he watches as she picks her head up and straightens her desk, checks an email, takes a swig of water. He comes to the sudden conclusion that if things were right, he'd fall in love with her. And not just because she can hold her own at a karaoke bar, either. But things aren't going to work out that way and he knows it. He won't let it. She's perfect, but she's not his. She's Tony's already and he knows she's his friend's saving grace and the guy's a blind jackass but he needs her. If he ever gets his shit together, he hopes, he'll be at their wedding giving toasts and she'll be Mrs. Stark and all will be right in the world.

It doesn't hurt to dream, though.

He turns then, and starts to walk out but her voice stops him.

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah, Pep?"

"Dinner tonight?"

For the life of him he wants to say yes and there's an aching feeling in his chest because he thinks he ought to say no.

"I'll try and drag Tony out today…maybe."

He's nodding then. "Tell him if he doesn't make it I'll whip his ass."

"Alright. See ya."

When he heads out the door and down the hall, he takes his phone from his pocket and starts downloading ringtones. "Baby Got Back" goes under Virginia Potts' number in his phone, whose name promptly gets changed to Pep. He doesn't seem to realize he's humming the tune as he gets into his car. And it may be cause he's hungry or that he really doesn't have much else to do today, but he suddenly can't wait till dinner.

* * *

Please review. They make me happy. :)


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